by Zachary Howe
Eventually, he turned around and headed back for his gate. He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t recognize his surroundings on his return trip, save for a Starbucks kiosk, which acted as a landmark. Fortunately, it was a straight shot back to the gate, but Gordie was surprised that it took him over five minutes.
“Where were you, Gordie?” Ellie asked.
“I was just walking. Don’t worry. I didn’t run into Poseidon or anything.”
“Don’t joke about that! You never know who is listening.” She glanced around, looking paranoid.
“Oh please, Ellie,” Atalo said. “If anything people will just think he’s crazy.” He flashed Gordie a stupid grin as if he thought he had effectively defended his grandson’s honor.
“Yeah. Thanks, Grandpa.”
Gordie sat down next to his mom with still over an hour and a half to kill before boarding the plane, knowing that once he was on the plane, he would be sitting for another eight hours. A few rows over in the labyrinth of seating, an old lady was knitting, which caught his attention. All of a sudden, he realized she was watching him, her hands moving the needles independently as only decades of muscle memory can perform. Her gaze was fixed on him, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Whatever it was, it was unsettling, and he wasn’t sure that it was friendly.
“Anyone want Starbucks?” Gordie asked, searching for an excuse to leave again.
“Maybe you should just stay here, Gordie,” Ellie said in an uncompromising tone.
“He’s fine, Ellie. We’ve still got over an hour. Go ahead, Gordo. Get me a coffee and keep the change.” Atalo handed him a ten, and Gordie snuck one last peek in the direction of the old lady. She was gone. His eyes scoured the area and Ellie sensed his alarm.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s- It’s nothing.” Ellie looked at him, unconvinced.
“You’re looking for that little brunette cutie, aren’t ya, Gordo?” Atalo’s wide grin brought Gordie back.
“Uh, yeah, that was it.”
“She just went over to that convenience shop there.” Atalo pointed towards Gordie’s earlier haunt. “Don’t worry, bud. I’m sure you’ll see enough of her on the plane.” He winked again.
Apparently we never stop noticing, Gordie thought. Ellie rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like ‘Pigs,’ under her breath, before she turned back to her magazine.
Gordie headed back towards the Starbucks kiosk, looking every which way for the demonic grandma. There had been something about her eyes. They just weren’t right. They were like jade compressed into smoke. He could have sworn that her irises were swirling with malevolence. He shook his head clear of these thoughts and scoffed at himself for being spooked by an eighty-year-old armed only with knitting needles.
In a few minutes he approached Starbucks and waited for his turn to order. There wasn’t a Starbucks in his hometown, but he did frequent them when he was in Madison. He loved the sugary drinks, so he ordered a Grandé Mocha Frappuccino for himself and a tall coffee for his grandpa.
“Which blend would you like?” asked the cashier. Gordie wasn’t a coffee drinker, but he had heard the type-A personalities clad in expensive suits pause their over-the-phone business meetings to order ‘dark roast’ enough times that he was able to parrot them.
“Dark roast, please.” Their transaction complete, Gordie pocketed the change and headed back to his gate.
“Thank you, m’ boy.” Atalo reached for his coffee and took a sip. “Ooh, that’s got a kick.” He smacked his lips.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what kind you wanted.”
“Not a problem. A man can handle dark coffee.”
“And women can’t?” Ellie asked.
“Well, of course, sweetie!” Atalo said. “Especially my girl!” He wrapped an enormous arm around her to give her a prideful squeeze. Gordie wondered if her optical muscles were becoming exhausted from excessive eye-rolling.
He sat down and noticed that the old lady was still unaccounted for, and it made him nervous in spite of himself. However, it appeared that the ‘little brunette cutie’ that his grandpa had pointed out earlier had returned, so Gordie busied himself by checking her out. She was standing with her back to him, chatting with her family. She was wearing those tight, black, stretchy pants that girls wore these days. Gordie wasn’t a church-goer, but he gave a silent ‘Amen’ every time he saw them. Staring intently, he began to realize that her form was familiar, and when she turned to look in the direction of the gate desk over his shoulder, his jaw dropped. Somehow, Bridget Clemens was at the same gate, waiting to take the same plane to London.
5
Fateful Encounters
Blood pooled in Gordie’s stomach and he became very hot as nerves coursed through his limbs. He prayed that Bridget Clemens had not seen him, but as she had been looking just past him, she spotted him almost instantly. Her eyes widened as they stared into his, and Gordie forgot his shock upon seeing her. Her expression softened into a smile as she turned to say something to her mom. Her mom looked in his direction with an expression of mingled disinterest and disdain, before she went back to flipping through her magazine.
Though Gordie was affronted, he couldn’t help but notice that her mom was very chic and quite beautiful. Her olive skin and dark hair were recognizable in her daughter, and he understood why Bridget was so gorgeous. She looked up at Bridget and mouthed, ‘Have fun,’ before Bridget turned and started towards Gordie.
He felt like he was sweating profusely and on the verge of vomiting. His hands were clammy and his heart was racing like he had just finished a triathlon. He looked over at his grandpa who had an eyebrow raised, glancing back and forth between Bridget and his grandson. A grin split Atalo’s cheeks, and he gave Gordie another wink. “Go get her, Gordo.”
“What? Who?” Ellie sounded alert again.
“It’s just . . . a girl from school,” Gordie said as he sprang to his feet without realizing what he was doing. Despite his internal protests, his feet carried him towards Bridget’s radiant smile. The droning buzz of hundreds of voices at the gate became white noise and then a ring. All too soon, they were face to face, and Gordie flinched as she threw her arms around him. The sound of reality, of the present, popped back into existence.
The nerves within him were undergoing some type of shift. He was still anxious, but now that angst was coupled with a complex excitement.
“What are you doing here?” they asked each other in unison, and Bridget’s giggle spread through Gordie, steeling his nerves like a shot of whiskey.
“I’m going to Paris with my family,” she said. “My dad’s going there on business and we begged him to take us.” Her smile was infectious, causing Gordie to grin like an idiot.
“That’s awesome!” he said, feeling stupid for not having anything interesting to add.
“So where are you going?” she asked him. A million answers swirled through his head. Mount Olympus? his brain suggested as a viable response. NO! he screamed inside his head. What do I say? Oh my god! She’s just looking at me like I’m a moron!
“Greece,” he expelled, sounding far cooler than the earthquake inside him would convey.
“Oh, that’s cool,” she said. She paused for a moment, looking away, then looked up and asked, “Where have you been, Gordie? Why haven’t you been back at school?” He was surprised to hear concern in her voice.
“Well . . . it’s just, a lot happened, ya know?” She nodded, and Gordie felt an insane urge to grab her and kiss her, but he restrained himself. “What about you? There’s only a couple weeks left of class. Shouldn’t you be there?”
“Finals were cancelled,” she said. “And honestly the teachers aren’t too concerned about grades right now. I’ve only been going to class because I don’t have anything else to do and the teachers insisted we keep coming. It’s not really even school anymore. They just want us to have some sort of routine, I think. Almost, like, half
the kids are gone.”
When she told Gordie this, he realized that she had still noted his absence, despite the sparse attendance. The lion in his chest purred and it took all of his focus to keep a stupid smile off his face.
“I got ya,” he said.
“Gordie,” the tonal shift in her voice extinguished his excitement as he sensed what was coming, “I heard about your dad. I’m really sorry.” Her bright green eyes were ablaze, looking up into his, boring a hole through him so deep that he had to look away.
“It’s okay. I mean, I’m okay.” He didn’t convince himself and he didn’t think he convinced her either.
“You wanna take a walk?” she asked. The fire sparked within him once again and he nodded in agreement. She turned to look back at her mom and put up a hand. Her mom raised an eyebrow and gave Gordie another once over. Her lip curled as if she had just eaten something distasteful, but she shrugged as if to say, ‘Suit yourself.’ Gordie tried to give her mom a reassuring smile as they turned to walk away, but she had already turned her attention back to her magazine. Then he noticed his own mom watching them, and was grateful for her restraint. He guessed she was experiencing a great deal more uneasiness than Bridget’s mother, but she did not try to interfere with their rendezvous. Gordie assumed his grandpa had stayed her hand, so he gave him a conciliatory smile before they walked out into the concourse.
For the third time, Gordie headed off in the direction of Starbucks, but this time he was far more aware of each step he took. For thirty seconds the young couple walked in silence, and the pressure to say something witty or funny was building in Gordie like a cartoon water main jacked up to full force.
“I can’t believe we’re on the same plane,” Bridget said, after what felt like a lifetime of silence.
“I know. Crazy.” Gordie was becoming increasingly angry with himself for his ineloquence.
“So where have you been?”
“I was staying with my grandpa. Our house was completely destroyed.” He glanced over at her to see her reaction, which turned to pity.
“I’m so sorry. The school hasn’t even been fixed yet. We just don’t use the classrooms that were damaged anymore.”
Gordie briefly reflected on the image of their mangled classroom. He was not surprised that the vision was so clear in his mind. He dreamed about it almost every night. It seemed that Bridget was also reminiscing because she had fallen silent.
“Did you have any friends that were hurt?” he asked.
“No,” she said, sounding almost like she felt guilty.
“That’s great,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. It seemed to lift her spirits a little.
“Do you know what happened that day?” Once again, Gordie was bombarded with a question that had an unbelievable answer.
“No idea.” He tried to shrug convincingly, but, despite the fact that he had limited interaction with Bridget in the past, she seemed to see through his deception.
Her eyes narrowed and she said, “I see.”
The silence resumed as they continued their undetermined path.
“So, what are you gonna do in France?” Gordie asked to steer the subject away from dangerous waters.
“My dad got tickets to go to the French Open. We’re gonna see Roger Federer play!” Gordie was surprised by her enthusiasm, but then he remembered she was on the high school tennis team.
“You really like tennis, huh?” he asked, immediately feeling like an idiot for making such an obvious observation.
“Yeah, I’ve played my whole life. Doesn’t sound like you’re a fan, though?” She was right, but Gordie was willing to like anything she did.
“I don’t watch it much, but I don’t have anything against it. I bet I could take you, though.” He flashed a flirtatious smile, pleased with himself for his successful coyness.
“Oh, you couldn’t handle me,” she said, brushing his arm. The heat that had risen inside him before resurfaced like dragons breath as he desperately tried to think about his mom and grandpa to distract himself from his more prurient interests.
“What are you gonna do in Greece?” she asked.
“My mom is Greek,” he started, as if that explained it. “Her grandfather was from there, so we’re taking a little family trip to the homeland.”
“That sounds nice.” Bridget smiled.
Gordie was dumbfounded by this girl he was seeing. At school she seemed so cold, so superficial. But now she was talking to this lowly farm boy, treating him with kindness. He wondered if she would do the same if her clique were with her; maybe not. But then, after the incident, he remembered how strong she had been. She had apologized to him about Noah. She had seemed good and caring. This must be the real her that he was seeing, but why couldn’t she always be this? He didn’t really care, he supposed. He liked this version of her . . . a lot. And that affection was growing by the minute.
“How long are you gonna be in Paris?” Gordie asked.
“Twelve days. How about you?”
“I’m not gonna be in Paris. But I wish I were going there now.” He flashed another impish grin.
“Yeah you do.” She gave Gordie a nudge and a little giggle.
Oh yeah! his psyche screamed. I’m the freakin’ man!
“Well, at least we have a little time to hang out on the plane. What row are you in?”
“We’re in the third row,” she said, and Gordie wondered why she didn’t specify that that meant first class.
“I’m pretty sure I’m in the back of the plane. Like the last row—row five-hundred-thirty-six, or something.”
“You are not!” She chuckled and slapped his wrist. “Are you sitting with your family?”
“Actually, no. My mom and Grandpa are a couple rows ahead of me. My mom freaked out when she saw that.” Gordie laughed to himself, but Bridget found that innocuous comment more interesting than he had intended.
“Why would she be so worried? It’s only a couple rows.”
“Oh, well, she’s just . . . you know, she’s a mom. Your mom didn’t seem too excited about you leaving her sight,” he retorted. He held his breath and hoped that he hadn’t blown everything. Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. My mom would probably flip!” she said, a little too theatrically. “But maybe I can manage to sneak back to visit you on the flight.” She gave him a sideways glance and a slight smile. Images raced through Gordie’s mind of a tryst in a cramped lavatory. He made a concerted effort to focus on their surroundings.
Gordie realized that he had no idea how long they had been walking. They were still in the same concourse, but they were further than he had gone on his previous expedition. He looked around and saw gate C30—they were on the opposite end of the concourse. He looked at Bridget and found her studying his features.
“How were you not hurt in that explosion?” she asked him.
Gordie recoiled. “I– I don’t know. You weren’t hurt either!”
“No, but I saw you. When I was thrown against . . .” she looked away, visibly steeling her nerves, “a pile of bodies. There was a second before I was covered by more bodies. I saw you. You were standing there, holding a girl in your arms. Everyone else was thrown like a rag doll, but you were just standing there, holding a girl in your arms.”
The memory hadn’t left Gordie and the image of Judy lying dead in his arms floated to the surface of his consciousness.
“Her name was Judy. She died the second she hit me,” he said. He had a crazy urge to tell her everything, but he knew she could never believe it. “And I don’t know why I didn’t go flying. Maybe there was something blocking the force in front of me.”
“Obviously not—Judy certainly didn’t shield you.”
“What do you want me to say? I didn’t do anything. I just lived.”
“What about that baseball? The one that you blew up or whatever? I heard about that. How did you do that?”
“T
hat was my bat,” he invented. “It’s really big. Sometimes that happens! It happens in the pros.”
“I haven’t heard of that. Some people thought you were on steroids.” She looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Look at me.” Gordie waved a hand over his midsection to suggest she take in the full picture. “Do I look like I’m on roids?”
He was feeling like a criminal under interrogation now, and he definitely did not enjoy the turn the conversation had taken. But then Bridget made it all go away with that inexplicable power she had over him.
“No, I guess not,” she said, as she touched his bicep, taking in his body before looking up at him. Gordie felt relieved, yet also crushed that she was not overwhelmed by the sheer mass of his muscles.
And then Bridget leaned in, wrapped her arms around Gordie’s neck, and kissed him. For what felt like a millennium he didn’t kiss her back because he was so caught off guard. But when his brain finally processed what was happening, he wrapped her up, with no intention of ever letting go, and gave her his full attention. They broke apart after a kiss that belonged in the last scene of a romantic comedy.
As Bridget slid away from him she released the slightest of moans, like the sound one makes after biting into a cookie fresh out of the oven. Fireworks exploded in Gordie’s brain.
“There’s just something about you, Gordie. I don’t know what it is, but I think I like it,” she said with a sly smile. She slipped her hand into his and pulled him back in the direction of their gate. Frozen in blissful shock, his feet stuck where they were planted for a moment before they begrudgingly fell in line with her.
Rainbows, lollipops, and unicorns danced around in his head. As they were walking back towards their gate, Gordie—busy sacheting through an internal paradise—did not realize that he was doing so in silence.
“What you thinkin’ ‘bout?” Bridget asked him, although, judging by her mischievous grin, Gordie thought she knew.
